Unforgettable Day
by Xenia van Hausen
Summary: "The rain fell with no mercy; it kept coming down in pellets so big it was as if the clouds held a never-ending grudge against the man standing beneath them...He didn't feel the rain slam onto his face. He was already too numb…both inside and out."
1. Unforgettable Day

_June 18, 2011; Edited December 15, 2011_

_I hope you enjoy this new take on the relationship between US/UK, and it's "somewhat" dark.  
><em>

_Please do review and give me some suggestions/constructive criticism! Thank you so much for reading!_

_I do NOT own Hetalia. If I did, Pirate England would rule the world. Eternally._

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><p><strong>Unforgettable Day<strong>

He stood shivering…his body trembled from the coldness surrounding him. The rain fell with no mercy; it kept coming down in pellets so big it was as if the clouds held a never-ending grudge against the man standing beneath them.

Slowly, he lifted his head and stared up at the gloomy sky above him—dark gray and suffocating.

He didn't feel the rain slam onto his face. He was already too numb…both inside and out. He shivered involuntarily from the harsh rain, and he trembled from the cold blue eyes that had pierced through him a moment ago.

He stood alone, tears streaming down his cheeks. He didn't even know that he was crying so hard he gasped for air. Clutching his chest, he stooped over and lost control of his knees. They buckled beneath him and he was suffocating himself with his tears. He wheezed and gasped, hearing himself choke for air.

.

.

"_I'm leaving."_

"_Wh-what? Where are you going?"_

"_Arthur, I have to go. I need to see the world with my own eyes."_

"_Aren't you happy the way you are, with me?"_

_A turn of the head—an avoidance of eye contact. "I have to go."_

"…_Why! …why? …why…" A thud on the wet mud._

"_Forgive me...Arthur."_

_._

_._

He gasped for air once again, and struck the ground. "Why! Why does this hurt so much?" He calmed down enough to stop his hyperventilation. His arms shot up to grab his head, and he began to feel the repeated pounding of the rain drops on his face and body. It felt refreshing…the steady beat, the harsh realization, the physical pain to take away the emotional wound.

"Arthur?"

He didn't hear. The screams of the rain drowned everything out.

"Arthur? Hey, Arthur." This person neared the unknowing man.

"It's…alright, Arthur. Come here…" The bright blue eyes filled with concern. They had witnessed this before.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" He only knew when that strong arm grasped his shoulder.

"You're crying again…"

"That doesn't matter to you, you stupid idiot! Get _away_ from me, you git!" He smacked the arm from him. His sobs started again, and it seemed that he would resume his hyperventilation.

"I'm not leaving you again, Arthur."

"Y-you-are—such a stupid—idiot! I said, get—the bloody hell—away from me!" His sobs interfered with his ability to speak smoothly and clearly. He thrashed about, struggling to break the steady grip the one with the bright, penetrating blue eyes had on him.

"Did you remember that day? Or should I say, this day, those years ago?"

"What makes you think that you're so important that I'll be thinking of _that_?"

"Arthur, calm dow—"

"Shut up! I _am_ calm! Just—" He struggled to speak coherently. "Get out of my sight!"

"No. Come here—"

"NO! Are you trying to scar me for another—I don't know how long! Get out of my sight you bloody idiot! I don't want to see those eyes agai—" He couldn't continue shouting his anger for he, once again, gasped for air.

"I don't care anymore." Those strong arms wrapped around him tightly, and he finally felt how soaked he was. That brown bomber jacket felt so warm…it smelled so nice…

"Get off of me! Let me go! Go away, god damn it! Go _AWAY!_ Damn it!" His struggles stopped, as he had no more energy. He had barely to begin with, as his muscles shook from the coldness.

"No. I told you, I'm not leaving you, Arthur."

"Quit lying, you bastard!"

"I'm not lying…I'm here right now, aren't I?"

"I don't give a damn! It doesn't matter anymore…" His voice dropped considerably.

"How can I make you trust me again?"

"I'm _not_ trusting you again! I don't want to have anything to do with you. Go away, you bloody git!"

He felt the arms wrap even tighter around him.

"Get away…from me…already…you bloody…idiot." Tears rolled down his face.

No motions were made to set him free. He was still locked in that strong, unwavering grasp.

"I don't want…you here. Go…away." He felt the other nuzzle his head on his neck.

"Stop this…stop…you're making me want to fall in your arms…" More sobs. "You're only going to direct those—those words at me again, and make me crumble. Let go of me…I don't want this…let me go…Let me go already! Leave me alone!"

"…I'm sorry. I'ma do all I can to make you believe again."

"Nothing you do will change my mind! I don't want to see you anymore! Leave! I can't take this much longer! _Go away!_"

"I'll make you believe. I will…"

"You've already ruined everything! You've already killed me! You took that knife and stabbed every part of me. You let me bleed dry. Then you went and shot a few more bullets into me! Nothing can fix it anymore! Just let me live without having to see you stare down at me and watch me with those eyes as I choke on my last breath. Just, leave!"

"Come here…" Alfred pulled the crying man close and forced their lips together.

"Ughn! Nnn…mmmmffff—" A slap. "_**Get the bloody hell off me!**_"

Alfred stumbled backward and put his hand to his stinging cheek.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing! _Don't take advantage of me!_" He furiously wiped his mouth with the green sleeve of his uniform, and if he were able to blush, he would have. His blood couldn't travel to his cheeks fast enough in such a freezing situation. "Quit making me want to lean in to you and forget about everything. I don't want to relive that day… I don't want to go back! Let me live my life, won't you? Just let me try to heal from these scars, can't you? _Stop making me wish I was back in your arms!" _Arthur clenched his eyes shut, and his hands were balled up into fists. His short hair stuck to his face, dripping with water.

Alfred stood still, hand to cheek, and stared with remorse at Arthur, who was on the verge of hyperventilating. He was panting hard, and his chest heaved up and down dramatically.

"I don't want you here! Do you know how hard I've been trying to make myself not yearn for you? _There are no second chances in life. _Once you screw up, then you're _done_._ Get over it! Move on!" _It sounded as if he was trying to shout that to himself, as well._ "_Quit…quit rubbing salt all over my wounds. I'm _bleeding_ all over!" He fell to the ground. "Stop…stop it…please…" He held his face in his hands. "Give me a break…don't make my wounds any deeper…I'll die…stop…stop…_please!"_

Soft sounds of splashing mud approached Arthur. Alfred walked up slowly, soaking wet from head to toe from the rain, as well. He looked down, eyes full of pain, and said, almost in a whisper, "I'm not giving up. I'm sorry, Arthur. I was the one who hurt you this gravely, but I will also be the one to heal you from this agony."

The Englishman did not reply, and kept his face in his hands.

"I won't ever hurt you again. I'll protect you. I'm gonna regain your trust, and this'll be forever."

"No…" A soft mumble. "No…I don't want to risk anything anymore…I will die…"

Alfred kneeled in front of the trembling man, and grabbed both his wrists, forcing him to look in his eyes. Green orbs met blue, and they were wide with fear, regret, longing, exhaustion, uncertainty, defeat.

"I won't ever let you die." The American leaned in and kissed Arthur gently, yet so roughly. He met resistance, but soon, nothing. Arthur didn't try to struggle free, yet he didn't kiss back, either. He was like a lifeless doll, for he had given up and refused to let Alfred back in his heart.

Alfred's chest constricted in anguish. However, he was determined to renew life into Arthur. He will make those beautiful green eyes shine, once again.

Arthur was too weak to stand up. He didn't complain when Alfred picked him up and began to carry him home, but he also didn't show any other emotion.

.

.

It was the day of remembrance, of regret.

It was the day of broken bonds, of unfulfilled promises.

It was the day of unforgivable resolves, of irreparable devastation.

It was the fourth of July.

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><p><em>AN: I'm a huge USUK fan, but somehow, if I was in this situation as Arthur, I'd be like him. I'd want to go back to Alfred so much, especially when Alfred is returning, himself! However, don't you think that in a relationship, if one person decided to end it, then that should have been given lots and lots of thought, so therefore it's something of a "final decision, no going back"? Well, good thing Alfred didn't cheat or anything, so this complicated relationship will have to mend its problems and fix any misinterpretation. xP I hope you understand Arthur's internal conflict...if that's how I should put it..._

_Don't worry, after this first chapter, Arthur won't be like this the whole time. XD I don't know if this is going to be a "real" story - oh, how should I put this?_

_The next chapters will be chronological, and they will relate to each other, but each one will have their own little idea. It's almost like a collection of one-shots, but different. Mainly, they'll focus on Alfred trying to heal Arthur's wounds. Or just how the two of them cope with this.  
><em>


	2. Underneath the Stars

_June 19, 2011_

_Yay! I got the second chapter up! Once again, I'd like to mention that this "story" is not completely chapter-by-chapter, event-by-event kind of thing. They're connected, in a way, that Arthur refuses to let himself give in to Alfred's constant attempts to win him back. Something like that. _

_Unforgettable Day – Chapter 2: _

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><p><strong>Underneath the Stars<strong>

"You kidnapped me here…for _what_?" Those thick eyebrows twitched.

"Ahahahahahhahaha! Like I said, we're camping!" As if that was the most exciting and favorite pastime of Arthur's.

"Who the hell wants to go _camping_, you git? Worst of all, who the bloody hell wants to go _camping_ with _you_? Do they have a death wish or something?" Slender arms crossed in front of a well-built chest.

"Ahahhahahha! You're gonna love it tonight!" Completely ignored.

"What? Did I hear that correctly? What are you planning to do tonight?" Those eyebrows furrowed in concern, terrified at the thought of the unknown source of Alfred's excitement.

"You'll see!" That annoying laugh. Why is it so tempting?

"You git. It's ten in the morning right now, and we're on top of a mountain. A really high one, at that. What am I going to do here?" Arthur ran his hand through his messy hair and kept it there. He had on a look of exasperation, one that adorned his handsome face quite frequently when Alfred was anywhere in proximity.

_How did I get in this situation?_

He heaved a heavy sigh, and recounted the order of events, which started with an extremely excited American barging in to a shocked Englishman's room.

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><p>"Artie! You lazy butt, you!" He bounced onto the Brit's bed and landed with his face inches from the latter. His smile covered half his face, and he continued, "Oh, wake up! C'mon, we've gotta go!"<p>

Arthur stared, eyes wide. His poor brain tried its best to register the situation as fast as possible, but it _did_ just wake up and it throbbed in pain from last night.

Well, last night. That's another story. Let's just say that Arthur was drop-dead drunk, and he had been outside in the pouring rain for too long. Way, way, too long. Added that he drained himself of energy by yelling and pounding on a certain blue-eyed, loud and obnoxious American.

Back to the morning incident: Arthur awoke to a painful headache, with big, round eyes behind glasses two inches from his face.

"C'mon, get dressed! We need to leave now!" Alfred jumped off the bed and swung open the closet door.

Arthur sat paralyzed, still on the border between his unconscious dreams and reality.

"What are you gonna wear? Ah, whatever. You always walk around in those boring outfits, anyways. I'll just stuff whatever looks comfy in here." Out of nowhere, Alfred got a big red camping bag in his hand and unzipped it open. Immediately, clothes were thrown in…no, not neatly at all.

_Wait…what? Ouch!_ Arthur's hand shot up to hold his head, as a jolt of pain ran through.

"Okay, done! What, you're not up yet, Artie!"

Alfred roughly grabbed the confused Englishman's wrist and yanked him up. "Fine, then! I'll help you!" Not bothering to look at what he snatched from the closet, Alfred threw the shirt and pants on the bed and took hold of the bottom of the t-shirt Arthur had on.

Finally, the latter found his voice. "Wait, what! Stop!" He gripped the hasty and impatient American's hands and glared. "What are you doing!"

"Helping you change! You're so slow!"

"Why do I need to change! Bloody hell, you idiot, it's seven in the morning! –Ouch!" Shouting so loudly did not do him good. The headache jumped for joy.

"Just change! We need to hurry!" He leaned in close. "Unless you really want me to help you change."

A blush painted itself on the pale cheeks of the Englishman. "N-no! Fine! I'll change! You get out!"

"Ahahahahha! Alright! Be quick, though, and I'll bring your bag outside to the car!" He marched out of the room, camping bag in tow.

Lifting his t-shirt above his head, Arthur mumbled to himself. "Bloody git. What's he doing, bothering me so early in the morning? And why do I have to listen to him?" The blush found home on Arthur's cheeks.

After slipping on some pants, Arthur began buttoning his shirt. With a loud bang, Alfred slammed the door open and came shouting, "Done yet!"

"Yes, calm down already! You're making my headache worse."

"Oh, you have a headache? How bad is it? But anyways, c'mon!" He seized Arthur's hand and dragged him outside, interrupting Arthur's attempt to button the last few buttons on his shirt.

* * *

><p>So now Arthur stood, hand in hair, exhausted. Alfred had parked the car, and the cabin was huge. Can that thing even be considered "for camping"?<p>

"We can enjoy our time up here! Isn't it refreshing! Ahahahha!" The American piled wood together, preparing for "tonight."

Arthur closed his eyes and sighed. _Even after what happened yesterday, he's so easy-going. Well…he never really told me the whole story. What did I do? From what I remember…I was drenched from head to toe, so was he…and he carried me home…what happened?_ He opened his eyes and gave in to the situation. Might as well enjoy the time up here than complain, knowing that it'll be futile, anyways, right?

He took a seat on the log beside Alfred. "Bringing me up here…what'd you plan?"

"You're not claiming that I 'kidnapped' you anymore, huh?"

"Y-you i-idiot! Shut up!"

"Ahahhaha!" More wood was thrown to the pile. "Well, the night sky was supposed to be really clear tonight. We'll see tons of stars! I wanted you to see them." That genuine smile.

Well, that blush clung on for dear life on Arthur's face. He could feel it climbing higher and higher, claiming more territory.

"O-oh." _Damn it—I shouldn't be feeling overly happy! Quit it! It's nothing!_

"Yeah. So let's enjoy our time up here, okay?" He leaned back, propping himself up with both hands.

"Sure…" Arthur sat with his knees together, hands in his laps, looking at the ground.

They sat in silence for a moment, until—

"Do you remember anything from last night?"

The Englishman was taken aback. His head jerked up, and he stared at the carefree man beside him.

"N-no…actually."

Alfred gazed at the blushing Brit.

"W-well, I remember that I had absolutely no more energy…and that I was freezing to the bone…well…what else? Um, I—well, I—" He turned his head away, bright red. "My eyes were blurred, and I saw your face. You held me in your arms, and I hated every moment of it—" _Not really, but…I must. I can't let myself forget—I can't succumb to this! _"I fell asleep…or did I fall unconscious? I don't remember much, only that you were there…and, well, why don't you tell me what happened?" His face was flushed red, but his eyes still turned to look into bright, blue orbs.

They stared back. Everything was silent with the exception of the occasional chirping of birds and the distant sound of running water.

With a long sigh, Alfred pushed himself off the log. "Let's eat. C'mon." He had one hand inside his pocket and held his other arm out for Arthur, but the latter stubbornly refused.

"I'm fine. I can walk on my own." He stood up brusquely, brushing himself off.

"If that's what you want…" He trailed off, dropping his arm to his side and shoved his hand inside his bomber jacket.

Arthur watched him walk in an abrupt manner towards the cabin. Slowly, he followed.

.

.

Seriously. Alfred wanted them to view the stars.

And when can you see the stars most clearly? Practically _midnight_.

And _when_ did Alfred drag Arthur up to the mountains? Seven in the morning.

Even if they _did_ arrive at ten. Then, they had to take their bags out, get settled, etc. By the time they finished, it was past noon.

So much for "camping." Not that Arthur minded, since he did not want to sleep outside. He was glad that they, at least, had some sort of shelter.

So, when Arthur got in the cabin, he fell to the couch. Alfred peeked over his shoulders from the kitchen, and smiled.

When he finished cooking, the exhausted Brit had fallen fast asleep. Watching that attractive sleeping face, Alfred dared not wake him another time. Besides, they were already where he wanted them to be, so he decided to let the Brit relax.

Leaning on the backside of the couch, Alfred crossed his arms and rested his eyes on the one beneath him.

"I'm sorry, Arthur. I'm sorry." His whispers were soft, and he bent down to plant a kiss on the latter's forehead. "I won't leave you. Please believe me…one more time." Another kiss, and Alfred straightened himself. Walking back to the kitchen, he covered the cooked food and left them on the table. When Arthur wakes up, he can heat it back up.

After that, Alfred went outside to finish his preparations for the spectacular night.

.

.

Arthur awoke with a yawn. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and skimmed the setting.

_Where am I?_

The place was dark, with a shallow shade of orange coming through the windows.

_Oh, yeah. I was forced to go to the mountain with that idiot._

The clock across the room read 7:23.

_What? This late already? When did I fall asleep?_

His head swiveled left and right, trying to catch a glance of a brown bomber jacket. It was nowhere in sight.

Soon, he heard movement outside, and strolled over to the door. He saw Alfred getting ready to start the fire, and blankets were spread out on the floor. Packages of chocolate, graham crackers, and marshmallows lay beside the logs, as well as the roasting sticks. The sun was almost completely set, saying good bye to this side of the earth for twelve hours.

Arthur stepped onto the stairs and descended.

Looking back, Alfred exclaimed, "Artie! You're awake! Come out! It's almost time!" He waved his hand frantically, with that huge smile dominating his face once again.

As Arthur approached, Alfred set the last of the materials down and grasped Arthur's wrist.

"Look! This is going to be _awesome!" _He motioned to everything around them. "See! You can't have a campfire without _s'mores!"_

The sun disappeared below the horizon, making it difficult for Arthur to see anything clearly, especially Alfred's face.

"It's dark, Alfred. Let's make the fire now."

"Ah! I didn't realize it! Yeah, we need to do that!" He let go of Arthur's arm—giving the latter a lurch in his heart—and lit the lighter. "Okay! This is awesome!"

"Yeah…" Arthur flexed his hand a little, and relaxed it. _What's with me? Why should I care if he grabbed my hand or not? I don't give a damn, damn it._

"C'mon, sit down! It's still early. We should make s'mores and eat before we lay back and admire the stars!" His strong arm patted the spot beside him.

Arthur stepped over the log, and took the seat. "Are s'mores that good?" He stared absentmindedly at the fire, and the marshmallow being burned on the roasting stick.

"What! Artie, you haven't eaten s'mores before!" Alfred had an expression of incredulousness. Eyes wide, mouth agape, breath held.

"N-no." Oh, that blush.

"Then this hero will save the day! You'll be so thankful that I brought you up here! Here, I'll show you how to make one. Hold this—" He handed the Englishman the roasting stick with the marshmallow and picked up the other one. "Look, you take this thing and then you stick the marshmallow on the pointy end. Get it?"

"O-of course! I'm not _that_ stupid!"

"Ahahaha! Okay! Then, you put it in the fire and wait till it turns a pretty light-brownish color! And it gets all sticky because it's melting, so be careful."

"O-okay."

"Here, the one you're holding should be done. I'll show you the next steps." That stupid adorable grin. _Bloody git._

He reached over and took the roasting stick from Arthur. "Here, you take this. Now, you get two square pieces of graham crackers. Take one and slide the marshmallow on. You really can't use your fingers to put the marshmallow on, because it'll be a big mess on your fingers. After you scooped it off, take a piece of chocolate and put it on top of the marshmallow. Then you can finally put the last piece of graham cracker on top and it's done! Here, you eat this one."

Hesitantly, Arthur took the extremely fattening, yet delectable, dessert. The other roasting stick had returned to Alfred's possession, but his attention was not on that melting marshmallow. He watched Arthur intently, causing the latter to blush an even deeper shade of red. After Arthur's messy first bite, Alfred eagerly asked, "How is it? Do you like it? It's good, huh?"

Trying to prevent the stretchy and sticky marshmallow from falling anywhere else, Arthur nodded.

"Yay! Let's make more, now!"

"Y-yeah."

They sat, warmed by the fire, eating s'mores, making small talk. Arthur enjoyed the atmosphere they had going, but his gut repeatedly told him to bring up the topic of last night.

"So, you know, as a hero, I _had_ to—"

"Alfred, sorry for the interruption, but could you tell me what happened last night? I need to know." His hand involuntarily tightened its grip on the base of the roasting stick.

Alfred stopped mid-sentence, his stupid, happy-go-lucky expression disappearing, replaced by another masked look. His eyes lost its shine and reflected an array of emotions—regret, pain, reluctance, avoidance.

"You…were devastated. Completely drunk, yet extremely clear-minded. Your subconscious was speaking, lashing out at me, bluntly and forcefully making me realize you inner insecurities. Your greatest insecurities…and fears." Alfred stopped, glancing curiously and timidly at Arthur. He was staring into the fire.

"I saw you kneeling on the ground, soaked in rain water, splashed with mud. You trembled furiously…you were a terrible sight." He stopped again, nervous of Arthur's reaction. He displayed none.

"I approached you, and you screamed at me to go away. Do you remember what you said?"

A slight shake of the head.

"You told me, screamed at me, rather, 'Get the hell away from me! I don't want to have anything to do with you! Stop making me want to fall back in your arms.'" Alfred repeated Arthur's outburst of emotions, but his version was spoken softly, full of remorse.

The marshmallow on Alfred's roasting stick was beginning to burn black, while Arthur inattentively twirled his marshmallow in circles.

"On the way back, when you had not one drip of energy left, when I was carrying you, you mumbled, 'You bloody git…I love you…stupid idiot…why did you do that!' Out of breath, you still managed to include a bunch of frustration and anger into that last bit." He glanced over into the fire and didn't even care that his marshmallow was burning.

"I—I didn't say that…" His denial was more out of habit than anything else.

"I promised you over and over again that I'd make you believe again. I'd wipe away all those insecurities." They both stared at the crackling fire.

Arthur's grip on the stick grew tighter, as he tried to reply. How—why is it that he can't let go? How is it that every time, he wants to prove himself wrong, that there is another chance?

_No! No! __No…don't. Don't. You'll end up hurt again. This time, you won't come back alive._

"Quit lying…you bloody…bloody…just, quit lying already…"

Those blue eyes shifted their gaze onto Arthur. "I'm not lying. I'll make you believe me. I will."

The Englishman's lips quivered. He waited a few seconds before saying, "No, stop it. I don't want any more of this…" His voice trembled.

"I won't hurt you. Ever again."

Arthur turned his head to the side, away from the fire, away from Alfred. His vision was blurring.

The other man let out a long breath, stood up, and brushed himself off, setting down the burnt marshmallow and roasting stick. "C'mon, let's enjoy the beautiful night sky." The fire had been dying down, and now, after Alfred fixed the blankets into more comfortable positions, he stomped out the fire.

"C'mon, come here. Lay with me." He held out his hand once again, and this time, Arthur took it. Alfred led them to the blankets, and after swiping unwanted debris off, he lied down, letting out a soft sigh of content. Arthur crawled onto the other blanket hesitantly, finally laying down himself.

Both of his hands were behind his head, but once Arthur settled, Alfred moved one arm and pointed upward. "Look, you can see so many stars! I can't believe my eyes! This is amazing!"

"Wow. …Yeah." Arthur's green eyes shone with delight, everything pushed out of his mind for now.

"Can you make out some constellations?"

"I don't know that many."

"Well, right there, that's the Big Dipper. Can you see it?"

"Where? Oh—oh, yeah."

"This is really pretty."

"It's calming."

"Yeah."

They grew quiet for a moment, admiring the sight above them.

Slowly, gently, Arthur felt something warm on top of his hand. It moved around, looking for the right spot. Finally, it stopped, holding on to Arthur's cold hand firmly. Arthur made no attempt to free his hand.

_Damn it…damn it. Why am I letting this happen?_

He felt a light squeeze. "I'm not giving up. Know that I will always come to you when you need someone. Believe in me."

He didn't respond, but it was enough for Alfred that Arthur didn't jerk his hand away.

"No matter how long—whether it be one month, one year, a decade, or a century—I will be by your side, trying to regain your trust. You won't ever be hurt again—either by me, or anyone else. I will protect you from such pain." He clutched his hand tighter.

This time, the previously unresponsive hand—and person—returned the hold. He moved his hand a little, finding that more comfortable position. Then, the power weakened, and Alfred was left hanging onto the other's loose hand.

They lied there silently, listening to the sounds of nature, and to each other's breathing.

"I love you, Arthur."

Said person's heart beat faster, despite his continuous efforts to cease such reactions.

"I always have, and always will. There has not been a time that I stopped loving you…even when I left."

_Stop it…quit saying those things! I can't go back…don't make me long to collapse in your embrace…quit it…_

Arthur's chest felt painfully tight, and his shoulders felt a shiver.

"Always. Always. I will make you see it, Arthur. Then, you'll believe."

* * *

><p><em>AN: AnimalLover15, if you're still reading this, I have your suggestion in mind! I just felt it should be later in this series of "stories." =P Gut instinct. XD I was somewhat disappointed when I couldn't reply to you, because I'm interested in your drawings!_


	3. Day at the County Fair

_June 20, 2011_

_Unforgettable Day – Chapter 3:_

* * *

><p><strong>Day at the County Fair<strong>

Time was at a standstill. Even _if_ it was for a split second.

Arthur gaped at the ground beneath him…a hundred feet or so below. He clamped his eyes shut right before the sudden acceleration downwards smashed the wind into his face.

"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhh!" He couldn't do anything but hold on to his seat for dear life and scream in terror.

Beside him, though, the crazy, spontaneous, blue-eyed American who never uses his brain shouted in excitement.

"Woooohooooo! WOOOOOOOOOOOOho!" His dirty-blonde hair whipped his face and all around his head. "Woooooooooooooooo! AHAHAHHAHAHAHA!" A huge smile hugged his face.

The ride jerked to a stop, and Arthur was left panting, with his heart beating so fast, it was about to burst. His knuckles hurt from the immense amount of force the Brit exerted clinging on to the safety buckles. He held his head down, trying to catch his breath.

"Ahahhahha! That was AWESOME!" The lock made a "clink" sound and Alfred pushed the safety fastener up. He stood, stretched, and stepped forward.

"Hmm? Artie?" He looked back.

The messy-haired blonde sat with his head down, and his hands still grasped the handles. Casually, Alfred strolled over to him.

"Aw, c'mon, Artie! It wasn't _that_ bad!" He wrapped his fingers around the paralyzed Brit's and peeled them open.

"Let's go. We can get kettle corn and slushies." Lifting the fastener over Arthur, Alfred peeked down to look at the latter's face.

"C'mon." He smiled that beautiful "Everything's alright!" smile.

The shaken Brit glanced up, green eyes meeting shining, gentle blue orbs.

"Idiot." He said that full of irritation, his adorable tsundere side taking over.

Alfred stood waiting, hands in his jeans pockets, a smile on his face.

The sun dominated the sky that day, making the puffy white clouds back away in awe, floating around to admire the sun's beauty.

On such a warm, spectacular day, Alfred decided not to wear his favorite bomber jacket for once. He had on his usual jeans, but they were a darker shade of blue this time. Instead of his trademark outfit, he had on a thin, loose t-shirt that complimented his upper body well. The shirt was white, with small black designs on the bottom corners. Standing there, hands in pockets, he was a modest sight, yet he attracted many eyes—especially when he took out his personally prescribed sunglasses and slipped them on to the bridge of his nose. Boy, did that turn the ladies' heads, as he replaced his glasses with those stunning _sun_glasses, framing his face perfectly.

"Okay, let's go." That smile never disappears, does it?

Arthur let out a soft grunt, as he pushed himself of the ride's seat, and mumbled, "Bloody git."

"Ahahahahha! I heard that, Artie!" The American had started to walk over to the 'Exit' gate, and once he reached it, he turned around to wait for the blushing Englishman, who was walking with his hands in his jeans pockets, as well, looking to the side.

On normal occasions, Arthur would not choose to wear jeans. They weren't his style. What he would wear are pants—most likely slacks—a belt, and a polo shirt.

You know, "gentleman"-looking and a sense of formality, but not overwhelming.

Today, due to Alfred's overflowing and tremendous amount of excitement, Arthur reluctantly ventured out of his comfortable way of dress and put on some jeans, matched with a thin, refreshing, woven shirt. Similar to a Hawaiian shirt, but less flashy and extravagant...not to mention much sexier. While the main color was white, it was washed with light green and pastel blue, giving off a pleasant summer and lighthearted feel.

The women who were unconsciously staring at Alfred noticed the blushing and extremely sexy Brit stumbling over to the handsome, unbelievably attractive American. They stood rooted to the ground, amazed at their luck to happen upon two very good-looking men—and "good-looking" was an understatement.

_Do they have girlfriends already? What are their names? Did they come alone?_

Questions rushed through practically the whole female population standing there in the proximity to the two men. Soon, every one of them gawked; blushes redder than roses and brighter than the sun that day filled their cheeks and occupied their necks.

Why?

Well, said 'sexy Brit' had hastily reached his destination, where said 'attractive American' was waiting, and 'said American' happily and obliviously wrapped his hand around the Brit's wrist and nonchalantly slipped his fingers down, intertwining the two hands.

The onlookers witnessed the Brit blush furiously, complaining to the American, no doubt shouting a few obscenities. However, the latter simply laughed it off and continued dragging the Brit away from the ride, heading towards the food stands. The complaining died off, leaving a bright red and embarrassed Brit being tugged away and directing his attention to the ground.

Gradually, the spell lifted off those captivated by the two's charm. Unconsciously, everyone who saw the simple, carefree exchange between Arthur and Alfred thought how perfectly well the two got along. Understanding each other doesn't necessarily mean to agree with everything, and those two were the number one example for that. However, they know exactly what the other truly means, if you catch my drift.

The onlookers, especially if they belonged to the female population, felt a small stab of disappointment as they watched the two men leave. Even those who weren't comfortable about homosexuality secretly admired them, and felt some jealousy.

By now, Arthur and Alfred had disappeared into the huge crowd and arrived in the main section for the food stands. Alfred still had his hands gripped tight around Arthur's.

"Artie! Look! They have _SO. MUCH. FOOD!"_ His head spun this way and that, trying to decide which stand to go to first.

"Al-Alfred. I have absolutely no appetite after going on a monstrous ride like that." He stood a bit behind the American, trying to anchor him from flying off to the hamburger stand, or something like that.

For a split second, the dirty-blonde head lingered in the opposite direction, no doubt spotting some type of deadly food, before it snapped around in shock.

"What! Artie! This is the _county_ fair! They have special food! You can't miss out on that!"

"Special…hah." The Englishman grimaced. "Special, alright." He closed his eyes and sighed, putting his face in his free hand. After a few seconds, he looked the American in the eye. "Fine, then. What are we eating?"

"That's the spirit, Artie!" The gloom that had occupied those blue eyes vanished and Alfred resumed his ardent skimming of the types of 'delicacies' offered. Arthur watched and waited in defeat.

"Oh! Let's get some ice cream! That place is supposed to be _really_ good and creamy!" Pointing to somewhere in the distance, Alfred, with a smile on his face, glanced at Arthur. "Wanna? Since it's so hot today, too!"

Arthur stood on his tiptoes in his attempt to identify the ice cream stand Alfred had so keenly spotted. Giving up, he sighed, "Ice cream is not _real_ food. Shouldn't you be eating that after you had lunch?"

"What? Food is food!" Alfred exclaimed, shocked.

"What am I going to do with you? Fine, fine. Let's go get ice cream." Looking away, Arthur mumbled, "Now that you mention it, today _is_ quite hot."

"What? I couldn't hear you! It's loud, here! Anyways, let's go!"

_That contagious happy-go-lucky attitude and smile never goes away, does it? Well—it's not like I don't like it…_

The crowd was unbelievably enormous and hard to navigate, with the addition that everyone tried to stay in their rightful places in line.

"Excuse me, hey—ex—cuse me—please—EXCU—thank you—Arthur, c'mon—Ma'am, could you move over a—PLEASE MOVE—ah, passing through—passin—MOVE, PLEASE—Arthur?—Okay—hey—move, please—"

Alfred squeezed his way through the tight mob, clutching onto Arthur so as not to lose him in the horde of people. Arthur stumbled behind him, apologizing time to time to the people Alfred so roughly pushed past.

"Ah, we made it alive!"

The sign, "Icy, Creamy Delight—the County's Number One Ice Cream!" arrogantly stood its ground, right beside Arthur.

"Wow! They have lots of flavors! What do you want, Arthur?"

The said man glanced up at the prominent menu sign, scanning through the list of eccentric flavors.

_Don't they have anything normal? _

He browsed through 'pistachio,' 'figs,' 'piña colada,' 'cheese,' 'barbeque'—_wait, what? Barbeque?—_'garlic,' 'bacon'—_Wasabi? What the hell is wrong with these people?_

_Don't they at least have something like cookies and cream? Surely, vanilla? At least, please, have vanilla!_

"This is the best! Have you decided yet, Arthur?"

"Um…these flavors don't sound too appetizing."

"Oh, don't be such a party pooper! You've gotta have the weird flavors at a county fair! It's the only time you can try something like that!"

"I'm not too interested in that…"

"I'll pay for it! And if you can't choose, I'll do it for you!" A smirk made its way onto Alfred's smiling face.

On the other hand, a frightened expression settled itself in Arthur's eyes.

"No—no, it's fine. I-I'll choose something."

"You sure?" That teasing tone. "The ones I have in mind sound seductively delicious." Arthur felt Alfred's breath on his neck as he had leaned in and whispered right next to Arthur's ear.

"Y-yes! I know what I want! Go, it's almost our turn."

_Bloody hell, how am I supposed to eat this?_

They approached the counter, and a young woman of about 20 years old cordially said from the window, "Hello, sir, what flavors would you like?"

Alfred took one last glance at the menu, and replied, "Let's see, I'd like to have bacon, cheese risotto, and chicken wing!"

"Alright, coming right up. And you, sir?"

"Oh—uh, I...I would like…Balsamic strawberry…um…rose…and, what's that? Oh. Never mind. Well, I guess…um. Okay, I'll get the black sesame, too."

The girl smiled a knowing smile and gave him a small wink. "Spectacular. It'll be ready very soon. Please wait over there, and thank you for coming!"

"Y-yes, thank you, too." He flushed red again.

She smiled so beautifully and naturally! Turning her attention away, she continued with her work. "Hello, sir, what flavors would you like today?"

Arthur jumped when he felt Alfred tug him further away from the ordering window.

"Arthur, we're supposed to wait here."

"Oh, yeah." His attention drifted back to the cheerful girl on the other side of the window. He didn't understand why, either. She wasn't anything out of the ordinary; she wasn't too tall, had dark-brownish, mid-length hair, and light make-up. Nothing too extravagant, but it was her genuine smile that kept the Brit's eyes attracted. She was at work, and she was enjoying herself. That caught the Brit's attention.

"Alfred! Your order's ready!"

The cones were piled high with three scoops of different flavors each.

Alfred returned, handing Arthur's ice cream cone to him. Arthur took it hesitantly and eyed it cautiously.

"Okay, let's get out of this horrible crowd! C'mon!"

Once again, Arthur was dragged behind the hyper American. He brought them out of the overpopulated food section of the fair and into the goods section. Less people walked around there to look at the—frequently overpriced—items.

"We can relax and enjoy the ice cream now!" He licked from the bottom up, to avoid dripping.

"Yeah."

"How's your ice cream? This bacon flavor really is interesting! You wanna try it?"

"No, not really. Glad you like it, though."

"Do you like yours?" Alfred looked from the corners of his eyes at how the Brit held the cone carefully.

"It's not bad."

"Okay, then!" He put his smile on again, though this time it did not shine as brightly.

Well, that didn't escape the Brit's notice.

"…Let's look at what they're selling."

"Hmm? Okay!"

Arthur took another glance at his ice cream and let out another small sigh. _I really don't want to eat this…much less finish it… _He licked the bottom, as he saw it begin to drip. _This…is that Balsamic strawberry flavor. I don't like it…but I can eat it._

Alfred was browsing the "souvenirs" stand, strewn with jewelry, decorations, clothing, etc.

"Haha! Arthur, look! Look at this thing! It's so—" Alfred held the item in midair and stared at Arthur.

"W-what?"

Or rather, he stared at Arthur's hand.

A smirk formed, even more mischievous this time. Without breaking his gaze, Alfred slowly set the item back to its original location.

"What is it!" Under Alfred's smirk and eyes, Arthur's blush visited his cheeks and neck for the thousandth or so time that day.

Alfred strolled over to Arthur, resembling a predator stalking its prey.

"You know, you should eat that ice cream before it melts all over you."

Arthur looked down, and sure enough, his ice cream was sliding down the side of his cone, threatening to cover his fingers.

Before he could bring it up to his mouth, though, Alfred had seized his wrist, bent down, and brought the cone to his lips. His right hand was carrying his own ice cream, but he held it to the side. Arthur could feel how hot his face was—and most likely red—as he watched Alfred lick the dripping ice cream from his cone. A few times, that skillful tongue slid over Arthur's fingers.

Alfred finally stopped and looked up, smirk still present. "It's not that bad, you know."

He removed his grasp, licking his own hand, wherever stray cream got on.

"Y-you bloody git." Arthur didn't turn his gaze away from what Alfred was doing, but his blush…oh, his blush.

Alfred gave him a sideways glance. "I can finish that for you…in my own way."

"IDIOT! I—I can finish it, thank you!" Arthur began furiously licking his ice cream.

"Good. Now, let's walk around." Ah, that smile returned.

* * *

><p>They walked around for two more hours, looking at the animals, merchandise, and displays. Alfred couldn't resist teasing Arthur throughout the day, especially when they saw the extremely puffy and fluffy rabbits. The Englishman stared, delighted at how cute and cuddly they looked.<br>Next, Alfred tried persuading Arthur to get on another heart-stopping ride. He teased him for fifteen whole minutes, with the Brit thrashing around in the strong hold of the American. The latter laughed even harder as they approached the line and Arthur's eyes grew wide in terror, lips beginning to tremble. He struggled even more vigorously, trying to rip Alfred's arm from his waist. This went on for, as previously mentioned, fifteen minutes, from the time when they neared the line and waited there.

Finally, Alfred said, with his laughter still in his voice, "Okay, okay! I get it! Calm down!" He took a firm hold on Arthur's arm with his free hand, keeping his other around the Brit's waist.

"We're not going on!"

"Noooooo! You're lying! Let me goooo!" He continued to thrash about.

"AHAHAHAH! No, I'm not! 'Kay, let's get out of the line. Hahaha!"

"What?" Arthur stopped struggling and stared at Alfred, not really believing what he heard.

"Yeah, c'mon. We're not going on this ride." He let go of Arthur's waist, but got a better hold of his hand and pulled him out of the suffocating line.

Arthur didn't say anything—though he did follow obligingly.

"Ahahahaha!"

"Quit laughing! It's not funny!"

"Artie, you're so cute!"

The blushing Brit couldn't respond to that—oh, his tsundere-ness! He only looked away, biting his lower lip.

"Hmmmmmmm. You wanna go now? We can find a restaurant to eat, since you don't seem to be too fond of this fair's food." His lips curved in an amused smile, reaching his eyes.

"S-sure."

"Okay, then! Let's go!"

_This idiot. Why is it that he makes my heart pound so much? Damn it…_

* * *

><p>After dinner, Alfred brought Arthur home and walked him to the door. Arthur carried the huge stuffed animal—a rabbit—that Alfred had won for him. It was 9 p.m. already.<p>

"Thanks for coming with me today!"

"Yeah, even though you pretty much kidnapped me again."

"Ahahhaha! Don't say it like that; you need to get out of the house, anyways!"

"I'm fine being home, thank you very much." He pulled out his key and stuck it inside the lock.

"I wanted to see you, though." Alfred was speaking right next to Arthur's ear, leaning down onto his shoulder.

"Bloody hell! Don't scare me like that—and don't get so close to me!"

"I loved watching you today, Artie. Your reactions are always so amusing…not to say adorable, too."

"I-idiot."

"Did you have fun, as well?"

"…" Although the night was cool, Arthur's face burned. "…yes, I did."

"I'm glad." Alfred's arms snaked around the Englishman's waist. "Can I give you a kiss?"

"W-what! No!"

"Is that so…then I won't pester you about it."

"Good! Now get off me; I need to get inside my house."

"Yeah." Alfred backed away, and Arthur twisted the key. The lock clicked. Putting his hand on the knob, Arthur was about to turn it. Before he could open the door, though, Alfred said, "Arthur."

"Hmm?" He turned around, only to have Alfred lean in and their lips met, making him drop the rabbit. "Ngh! …mmmmngh.." His hands were on Alfred's chest, trying to push him away—well, not too much. Soon, he was kissing him back as Alfred's arms made their way around Arthur again. He felt his back hit something hard, realizing that he was being pushed to the door.

"Mmmmngh…"

Alfred had Arthur pinned, with his leg between the Brit's.

He lifted his head away, leaving Arthur panting for air, cheeks redder than ever.

"You bastard…"

"I love you too, Arthur."

"Who the hell said you could do that!"

"You liked it, though, didn't you?" That knowing look returned to those blue eyes.

"Bloody git!"

"Yes, good night, Arthur." Their faces were extremely close again, causing Arthur to be flustered. Alfred chuckled, and backed away. "Good night! I'll see you later!"

"Bloody hell, no. I don't want to see you again," Arthur mumbled as he watched Alfred walk away.

Bending down to pick his gift up, he thought, _If I see you again…I don't know how much longer I can resist—I…ugh. I'm not thinking about this anymore._

He looked down in his arms at the stuffed animal Alfred gave him, blush still present. Seriously, that blush pretty much married Arthur's cheeks.

_Idiot…I really wish he'd stop this…damn it…damn it!_

Heaving a sigh, Arthur entered his house and headed towards his room, emotions in turmoil, persuading himself the whole way inside that he mustn't be so weak as to give in so easily…

_No. Bloody git! Why does he keep doing this to me!_

He yanked his shirt off and flung it into the basket.

_I'm just going to go to sleep and not have any second thoughts…damn it._

* * *

><p><em>AN: I'm starting to realize just how much I act like Alfred…. o.o'' No, no, I'm not blessed with the sexiness he possesses. Just his stupidity and jumpy excitement._


	4. Remembrance

_June 24, 2011_

_I hope you like this chapter! I was really inspired for this chapter, but I had too much in mind...that I didn't know how to organize it...and I had different really good scenarios...but I had to choose the one that fits? Maybe I should write those short scenarios and upload them, too._

_Unforgettable Day – Chapter 4:_

* * *

><p><strong>Remembrance<br>**

The screen on Alfred's iPhone shone in the darkness around him. He simply stood in front of the door, looking down at the bright screen.  
><em>11:52, huh? Does he really need me at this kind of time?<em>

Gradually, he lifted his head and stared at the door. Turning the knob, he opened it easily. It wasn't locked.

Inside, the house had no source of light other than what streamed through from the moon to the windows.

Alfred stepped in hesitantly, head turning left and right, searching for Arthur in the dark.

_What the heck is he doing? Calling me to come so late…_

The blue-eyed dirty-blonde American approached the living room and saw the Brit sitting lopsided on an armchair, a bottle in hand.

His eyes were half-opened; his vision blurred.

"Ah~! It's Al~!" Even his speaking was slurred.

Alfred sighed. His suspicions proved true. If Arthur was calling him '_Al_,' then he was definitely drunk beyond comprehension.

"Al! You're—haha—here—_hic_—haha." Arthur's arm, with the bottle of alcohol in hand, flopped back and forth as he took on a sloppy expression of delight.

"You're drunk, Arthur. Why'd you call me here?" Alfred didn't want to stay for long, and he didn't want to be swept into Arthur's schemes when he doesn't even know what he's suggesting. Who knows what Arthur—or Alfred himself—would do in this situation?

The Brit slowly, and quite unsuccessfully, began to prop himself up.

"That's mean, Al—I wanted—ha—I wanted to see you!" Finally, he sat up. Then, he tried standing, despite falling back down to the armchair a few times.

Alfred sighed again. "Well, I'm here. What is it?"

"Haha, ha! Al! I missed you—do you know—_hic_—how much I've missed you?" He had a hand on the side of the chair and started to wobble over to where Alfred stood.

"You…you…!" Wobble. "You're…the worst person—" Stumble. "—ever!" He was halfway across the room. "Why do I miss you—_hic_—so much!"

Alfred started to walk over to the Brit.

"I thought—_hic_—that I wouldn't—_hic_—see you again!—_hic_—and I was resolute—_hic_—to stay strong! Don't give me false hope! Stupid git!" Arthur had reached Alfred, and now the Brit stood, glaring up at the American.

"I only recently accepted it! Stop messing with me! …coming here…dragging me along with you…who do you think you are!"

A long, strong arm stretched out and grasped the Brit's.

"Arthur…"

"Always…always…you always do this to me…always…"

"Please—" He pulled the latter close. "Please, give me your trust one more time…"

Arthur leaned his head on Alfred's shoulder. "You're the—_hic_—worst person—ever."

"I know."

"The…worst—_hic_." His arm slung on Alfred's other shoulder, hanging limply, with the bottle of liquor still in hand.

"I'm sorry." Such a soft whisper—did the drunk Englishman even hear?

They stayed in that position for a few long minutes, and finally, Arthur glanced up at Alfred, face contorted in worry and trepidation.

"Can I…really trust you?" His beautiful green eyes were round with dread and anxiety.  
>"Can I really…let you back in?"<p>

All Alfred could do was keep his blue eyes on Arthur's green ones.

"I…don't know what to do, Alfred. I don't know anymore!" The Brit trembled in the American's arms. His head snuggled back onto the latter's shoulder.

"Yes…please, allow me in your world again." The soft whisper sounded pained, as if Alfred felt regret—for what? For leaving Arthur? For being so persistent in getting Arthur's trust back, although that seems to be inflicting more pain on him?

"Why…?" Arthur moved his head into a more comfortable position, face down.

"Why? I loved you…I loved…you…did you know? Why did you have to leave!" His voice wavered and tears streamed down his cheeks onto Alfred's jacket.

Alfred hugged him tighter.

"I knew. I still know. I'm sorry." He glanced down and put his chin next to Arthur's messy hair. "I'm sorry…"

Arthur didn't reply. His sobs were softer now, dying out. He mumbled, "Can…I? Can I really…?" His body was going limp. "I'm afraid…I'm…terrified…"

Alfred sighed again, for who knows how many times that night?

_I guess he finally went unconscious after all that alcohol he drank._

He picked Arthur up and carried him into the bedroom. Carefully setting the drunken Brit on the king-sized bed, Alfred stood back and glanced at him for a while.

Arthur slept soundly, cheeks flushed red. His chest heaved up and down, tear stains visible on his face.

Alfred pulled the desk chair beside the bed and sat down. He had seen Arthur drunk many times, but this particular night, he noticed a slight difference. The Brit wasn't as boisterous or unruly… Tonight, he simply…spoke his mind. No resistance, no violent outbursts.

Leaning over, Alfred wiped away the tears settled on Arthur's red and warm cheeks. The moon shone through the light curtains covering the window across the room.

Arthur stirred, briefly, for he was swaying on the border between consciousness and sleep.

"Al…"

Said person ran his hand over the latter's hair. Then he grabbed the covers and pulled them on top of the Brit.

"Yes?"

"Al…you're here." Arthur fidgeted slightly, achieving a comfy position. He lifted his hand, which didn't go very high as he had no energy.

Alfred took it.

"Yeah, I'm here."

The half-conscious man smiled, closing his eyes at the same time.

"Go, sleep, Arthur."

He uttered no reply; however, Alfred felt his hand being moved and intertwined with the Brit's. He gave Arthur's hand a squeeze.

"Can you stay with me tonight?" The Brit was mumbling.

Alfred didn't reply, for he didn't know if Arthur would hear.

"Please…Al, don't leave me…" Another mumble.

This time, Alfred replied. "If that is what you wish for, then I will stay."

Once again, a smile appeared on the Englishman's face.

"Stay here…don't leave…I don't want to wake up in the middle of the night…and be all alone…after that nightmare…why does it keep replaying!" He clutched onto Alfred's hand with all the strength he could muster. His voice was quiet, and his sentences sounded strained.

Without letting go of Arthur's hand, Alfred pushed away the chair and knelt down on the floor, laying his arms on the bed for support.

"I'll be here tonight, so don't worry and go to sleep."

Sensing that Arthur's breathing slowed and turned steady, Alfred rested his head on his arm. Their hands were still firmly held together.

* * *

><p>The sound of the rain made Arthur tremble. It fell mercilessly, pounding on the house as if looking for revenge.<p>

A faint image of a field laden with mud and stray blades of grass scattered here and there appeared.

He was trembling…shaking…covered in dirt…soaked…

He was crying, on his knees…his hands were sinking into the mud.

What a pitiful sight, like a stray dog abandoned by his beloved human, thrown away on the side of the road.

The harsh rain played a full crescendo, persistent in waking Arthur up, exacting revenge.

His eyes opened, gradually adjusting to the darkness.

His body felt heavy—extremely heavy. He couldn't lift a finger, much less slide his head even a millimeter. He could hear his breathing become fast and deep, mixing in with the sound of the rain.

How much time passed as he lay there?

Why did he have that dream?

In addition, why were his eyes so moist?

The water from his eyes overflowed onto the sides of his face.

He lay paralyzed, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling of his tears sliding threateningly close to his ears.

That dreaded emotion of despair filled his entire being.

Slowly, very slowly, the heavy weight lifted from Arthur, and he relaxed. Then, was he able to feel the warmth on his left hand.

What was there?

Who could possibly be here so late?

Arthur had absolutely no strength left; thus, all he could do was leave his hand there.

It did feel reassuring, though.

He scanned his own room, having nothing else to do.

_The rain is as unforgiving as ever._

…_Not as much as _that_ day, though…_

After a few torturing minutes, Arthur regained some strength. He tried to sit up, moving both his hands in the process, making the certain someone beside him stir.

"Arthur?" Sleep was definitely in his voice as he mumbled.

"Alfred! Why are you here!"

Said person had fell asleep, resting his arms and head on Arthur's bed while kneeling. He stood up and patted the messy locks of the Englishman.

"You don't remember anything, as usual. Well, long story short, Artie, you called me here when you were dead drunk."

"What? And hey, don't touch my hair!"

Alfred obliged, but only to return his hand to the hand of the moody Brit's and sat down on the top corner of the bed, besides Arthur.

"Wha—anyways, it's late. Why didn't you go back?"

"Hahaha! You pleaded for me to stay, Artie."

A blush immediately secured a seat on the cheeks of Arthur's face. "Who—who would do that!"

"Haha. Deny it all you want, but I can leave right now if you want to." No doub, a hint of mischievousness was in Alfred's words, as he knew this man very well. He never spoke his real thoughts and desires.

"W-well…" Arthur stuttered, avoiding eye contact and unconsciously gripping Alfred's hand tighter.

The latter smiled, half delightfully, half teasingly.

"Well?"

"…umm…" Arthur's whole face was beautifully occupied by a deep red hue. He continued, so soft it was almost a mumble, "I—I want…you to…stay…"

Alfred feigned deafness. "I couldn't hear you, Artie." He leaned in closer, his face almost touching Arthur's.

The other turned his face away, but he didn't pull back. Barely any louder than before, Arthur repeated, "Stay…I won't be able to fall back asleep…I—" He clutched onto Alfred's hand.

What was he about to say!

_Damn it! I would _never _tell him that I dreamt of that day…and that I'm still so affected by it…!_

Only then, after Arthur's abrupt stop, did Alfred notice the fresh tears on the side of the Brit's eyes.

He sighed, and said, "Yes, don't worry and sleep. I'll be right here." He swung his legs onto the bed and leaned on the headboard of the bedframe. Pulling Arthur back down into his sleeping position, Alfred placed his right arm next to Arthur's head and on his right shoulder. He grabbed the Brit's left hand in his own, relaxed, and tried to sleep again.

Still blushing furiously, Arthur turned to sleep on his side, facing Alfred, and used both hands to hold onto Alfred's. The American set his free hand on the Brit's head, and patted him lightly.

"I'll be here, don't worry."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Arthur's nightmare and reaction is based on my own experience...haha. (Connection with Morning Surprise? =P)_


	5. If Only

_August 30, 2011_

_After a long writer's block (plus procrastination...haha...), here is:_

_Unforgettable Day – Chapter 5:_

* * *

><p><strong>If Only…<strong>

Tears slid down his cheeks endlessly.

He didn't even bother to wipe them away as the wet stickiness made his brain nag at him about the uncomfortable sensation.

The back of his throat was beyond uncomfortable; mucus gathered up in his nose and overflowed.

Without a care about how he looked or felt, the shattered man roughly wiped at the excess fluids using his sleeves.

No, it didn't do much good. Maybe the action made it even worse.

The place was isolated, a constant buzz ringing through the silence. Most likely the street light...

Arthur had wandered aimlessly on the street, searching for solitude. Soon, he had arrived at an isolated park, the desolate, yellow light illuminating a small section of the playground before fading out into darkness once again. There Arther sat, on the rusty swings away from the small glow of light on the playing structure across from him.

As he shivered from the cold night, he subconsciously kicked his feet back and forth, pushing himself on the swing, swaying slowly.

_I'm so pathetic...haha, I can't believe this. _

Another swipe at his nose, which was beginning to hurt from the rough fabric and cold air.

_Why the hell am I crying?_

_What the hell am I doing?_

Holding on to the swing chains, Arthur stopped his feet and dug his toes into the sand. He dropped his head backwards, looking up into the dark sky.

_The stars, huh? The moon...is so bright tonight. So calming..._

"Hah!" he scoffed aloud. "Hah, what am I doing? Crying so pathetically...do I really think that someone is going to pass by so conveniently and comfort you?" He pulled his head forward and his shoulders drooped; his hands tightened around the harsh chains. "Just like those stupid shoujo manga...the girl is helpless, hurt, dejected...and it just so happens that the love of her life walks by and notices." Another sharp kick, Arthur swayed on his swing again.

"If only...if only it were true...haha, haha! No way, quit kidding yourself. Who the hell would come?"

The tears were almost completely dry by now, leaving Arthur's face stiff.

_I wish..._

"No, stop."

Speaking out loud like this was the only way to prevent himself from thinking unnecessary thoughts and thus falling further into despair.

"It's not going to happen, so stop." His shaky voice dropped lower, softer, "If only..."

_If only he would..._

Despite the Englishman's desperate attempts to convince himself that no one would come, his heart couldn't help but hold on to that miniscule sliver of hope.

_He would...if only...if only he could...appear right now._

His body trembled more violently, his knuckles growing white from how hard he held on.

"Who am I kidding?"

_I really want someone to wrap me in their arms...hold me tight enough so that I won't fall apart...as stupid and cheesy as that sounds...I really can't hold on much longer..._

"If only...if only this was like those stories, huh? So easily someone will show up and give you strength. So easily..."

The steady rhythm of swinging back and forth provided a little bit of comfort to Arthur.

_I'm so stupid...bloody damn..._

No more tears came; finally, the stinging coldness, the restricting dried tears, and the burning grip hit Arthur. The extreme uncomfort he was in caught his attention, but he allowed it to continue.

"It's cold..."

_So what? No one cares. No one cares a damn about what would happen to me._

Stubbornly, he remained where he was.

One tiny part of him wished, _if__only,__if__only__someone__would__come__and__comfort__him...if__only__he__would__notice__and__come..._

No matter how many times he repeatedly reprimanded himself to give up and accept the fact that no, in this world, you're by yourself, that tiny, minute part of him clung on desperately to the infinitesimal percent of someone possibly coming to him.

He checked his phone. His fingers were numb from the cold and his grip on the swing chains.

_11:37._

"So late already, huh..."

Sitting here for over half an hour did not prove any miracles.

Reluctantly, Arthur stood and dusted himself off. Taking one last look at his surroundings, he began his walk home.

The whole way, his head hung down while he stared at the ground.

_I've been too caught up in stupid stories lately…wishing for something like this…for someone to come…it won't happen…_

Before he knew it, he was already in front of his home. No lights were on, inside or out. Thus, he fumbled for his keys to unlock his door. Once inside, he headed straight for his bathroom, turned on the water, and peeled off his clothes. Sticking a hand under the running water to test the warmth, Arthur stepped into the tub. He stood still under the showerhead, letting the warm water splash onto him, pelting every inch of his body.

Due to being outside for so long, the sudden warmth made him shiver. He wrapped his arms around himself, digging his fingers into his triceps. Whether he shivered only from the change in temperature is another matter.

Still trembling in his own arms, Arthur dropped into a squatting position and curled up, bringing his knees closer to him. He desperately wished for someone to hold him, to give him some kind of relief from his despair.

But all he had was himself—to pull himself together, to reassure his own aching heart.

That was what he did exactly.

There, on the bottom of his bathroom tub.

He couldn't even cry anymore.

All he did was use all the power he had in his hands to grab his upper arms tighter. If he let go, he was afraid he would definitely collapse and break into pieces. The continuous sound of water hitting fiberglass drowned out Arthur's thoughts, to which he was grateful.

Dragging himself back up, he finally grabbed the bar of soap to clean himself.

Facing the tiled walls, he was unable to stop himself from seeing a certain American's face in his head. Oh, how he wanted Alfred there so much…

_If only…_

Arthur couldn't bear to finish that thought.

As he turned off the water and did everything out of habit, his mind wandered off, his thoughts incoherent and confusing.

With his pajamas on, Arthur wiped at his hair one last time, put the towel down, and glanced at his bedside clock.

_1:23._

He let out a deep sigh and crawled into bed.

* * *

><p>The next day, Arthur stayed cooped up in his house. Not like anyone would notice, right? They saw him as a bitter and unsociable man anyways.<p>

He lay on his bed, thinking and daydreaming about anything and everything. However, they all led back to how pathetic he was last night.

After lying there for an hour or so after he had woken, Arthur decided he should wash his face and get something to eat…even though he had no appetite whatsoever.

He opted for some tea and sat looking out the windows, staring blankly at nothing in particular.

The ringing of his cellphone and the noise it made as it vibrated on the table jolted him out of his reverie, almost spilling his cup of tea.

With a soft clang, the cup was set down and Arthur looked at the caller ID on his phone's screen.

_Alfred F. Jones._

Arthur stared, his mind wiped clean. He didn't know what to do: answer? And then what? Don't answer? …but he wanted to hear that voice…

As he debated internally, the impatient blonde on the other side of the line hung up.

Arthur sighed.

Reaching for his cup again, the phone buzzed back to life. Again, Arthur debated. Again, the phone went dead.

_Bloody git! I'm not answering._

Though, in reality, the Brit wished for Alfred to call again, to show that he cared for the Brit in some kind of way, or at least acknowledged his existence.

Arthur sat with his Earl Grey tea, expecting the familiar ringtone to play, but the phone did not ring.

After waiting for ten minutes, Arthur's hopes dropped. He got up and cleaned his cup.

He really didn't want to do anything today.

Walking over to his couch, he once again sat there and stared, with no focus point. He drifted off between consciousness and sleep, eyelids sliding down and up slightly.

When Arthur's eyes fully opened later, he realized that he had fallen asleep on his couch, and

it was already 5 p.m. Well, he did wake up at noon in addition to sleeping late.

_Ding dong!_

The doorbell?

Who would come visit him?

Pushing himself up, Arthur walked over to the front door. Who he saw through the eyepiece startled him.

_Alfred?_

This time, he knocked a few times on the door. Hard.

Arthur, in his confused state, fumbled with the lock and knob.

Glancing up into bright blue eyes, Arthur stuttered, "Alfred, why—why are you here?"

"I called! You just didn't pick up!" A pout formed on his lips.

_Ah__… _"I'm sorry, then." Arthur broke their eye contact, looking down to the side. He couldn't think of anything to say, since all that he wanted to tell this person in front of him cannot do.

Sensing that something was off, Alfred's pout left his face, replaced by an indescribable expression.

Stuffing his arms into the pockets of his hoodie, Alfred inquired, "Artie?"

"Oh, ah…I'm not…feeling well. So…" Lifting his head to meet the American's gaze, he continued, "I'm sorry." His eyes wandered away from the other's again, down to the bulging pockets of the hoodie. He really wanted those arms to be—

Before his brain registered what he saw, he felt a strong grip on his back while his face was pushed against something warm and soft, yet firm.

Alfred, without needing Arthur to say anything, wrapped the Brit in his arms.

How?

Why? Why is it that he knows?

_How_ did he know?

Arthur slumped, relaxing the tense stature that he did not know he was in.

Alfred simply hugged him tighter, preventing the Brit from falling.

Said Brit let go of all reasoning and nudged his face against Alfred's chest, even more comfortable with the hoodie.

Alfred felt the smaller man tremble slightly in his arms. With a light squeeze, he pulled one arm away to close the door behind them.

As he felt the firm grip loosen, Arthur instinctively used his own hands to cling on, wrapping around Alfred to his shoulder blades.

The latter noticed, and without speaking a word, returned his arm to its previous position.

"Come." The solitary word was whispered into Arthur's ear, gentle and understanding.

He only held on tighter, refusing to release his grip. Only then did Alfred move his arms from around Arthur to the ones on his back. Once Alfred's grasp loosened, Arthur tried to cling on even more.

Softly, the taller blonde pried away the thin arms on him, sliding his hand down to intertwine their fingers.

Looking up into clear, blue eyes, Arthur felt himself crumble, despite the wall he had built so desperately to protect himself.

Glancing down into muddled, green eyes, Alfred knew just how much Arthur was trying from falling apart.

One little tap, and he would topple over and break like a porcelain doll.

Alfred felt the trembling hands in his, and pulled the other into the bedroom. He wished he was able to hug him throughout the whole thing—which only made him walk faster.

Once they reached the side of the bed, Alfred lifted the covers and gave Arthur a tug.

Quietly, he said, "Come, sleep." Another tug and Arthur obliged, crawling into the bed and under the covers.

Alfred never let go of his hand, although he did switch them so they wouldn't be in a weird position and he could move the covers more efficiently.

As Arthur slipped into bed, Alfred watched and took note of the figure that still trembled, albeit less than before.

Giving the hand a squeeze, Alfred kneeled down and whispered, "May I?"

His only answer was a slight tug and a tighter grasp on his hand. A small smile formed on his lips and Alfred crawled into the bed, lying beside Arthur.

Immediately, the latter wriggled closer to Alfred until he was able to bury his face in the taller man's broad chest. He slipped his arms around Alfred again, pulling himself closer.

Alfred, taking the cue, put his arms around Arthur and resumed his previous action of holding the other tightly. He heard sniffles from time to time, and knew that Arthur was crying. It only made Alfred hug him tighter and closer to himself.

Arthur tried to speak, but no words came to him. Thus, he was only able to hope that Alfred understood, and didn't ask anything.

Which he did, perfectly.

"I'll always be here, Arthur." A whisper right beside his ear. "Always."

Receiving no reply, Alfred smiled faintly and continued, "Just don't push me away, please."

Arthur, once again, did not reply. He stayed in his position and nuzzled against Alfred's chest.

They soon both fell asleep in each other's arms.

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	6. Movie Night

_December 15, 2011_

_Sorry for the late update._

* * *

><p><strong>Movie Night<strong>

"What did you want to watch?"

Arthur turned around from the counter of his kitchen. "Why are we watching something together in the first place?"

"What are you talking about, Artie! Of _course _we are watching a movie together!"

"I don't see your point." He resumed his watch on the coffee maker. The water had started to boil, a strong scent of Alfred's favorite coffee wafting out.

"You sure you're not gonna choose?" As usual, Alfred completely disregarded Arthur's comment.

The latter did not reply.

"Fine then! I'll choose!"

Arthur heard shuffling and noisy clacks of DVD and Blu-Ray boxes being shoved around.

The dark liquid bubbled and Arthur poured out an enormous amount into a mug with the American flag on it. Setting the coffee aside, Arthur made some Earl Gray tea for himself, in his own mug with a British flag.

Alfred had bought both the mugs.

He barged in one day—like usual—and shoved the mugs in Arthur's kitchen. He found a place in one of the cupboards and declared that they held the highest prestige and importance of mugs in the household of the United Kingdom of England and Northern Ireland.

Arthur would never admit it, but his mug was quite useful and sturdy...

"Okay, Artie! It's starting! Hurry up!"

The Brit sighed with a soft smile lighting up his eyes, grabbed both mugs, and headed towards the living room.

He saw the tuft of golden blonde hair, its owner settling himself on the sleek, vanilla-white sofa, across the flat screen TV. Arthur rounded the corner and, glancing at Alfred, his eyes bright with excitement, he set the mugs down with an inevitable "clack" as hard porcelain hit the smooth glass of the coffee table.

"Well, then, what are we watching?" As he set his own cup down, Arthur scooted onto the sofa.

"Oh! Hey!" Alfred spared the Brit a quick glance, another at his coffee, back to Arthur. "Wow, thanks!" Attention reverted to the TV. "You'll love this!" he continued. Arthur watched those lips move, never losing the bright smile, and the gleam of the lights off of those glasses that complimented those baby blue eyes so well.

He mildly heard Alfred ramble, "It's about this one air force pilot who wakes up in this one place, all isolated, and this girl speaks to him through a monitor. You know, like a webcam. He doesn't know what's going on, and she acts all suspicious and stuff, and he always has to go back to this one train heading for Chicago to find the bomber. It's a complete mystery—and it has all the action you need—and I mean, come on! This guy's a total hero!—not as much as me, but still—you'll love it!" Arthur, whenever he sat—or stood, depending on the circumstances—listening to Alfred, he would always wonder, _how can this git talk so fast and never seem to need to take a breath of air? Not to mention how much he says. _

This time, though, Arthur only had that thought in the back of his mind. Right now, staring at Alfred's ecstatic expression, beautiful blue eyes the color of a perfect sky, he couldn't think of anything—couldn't do anything—but stare at the American's face as if in a trance.

As he finished that last exclamation, Alfred had finally swung his head to his left for some eye contact with Arthur, yet what he saw wiped all the usual enthusiasm from his face. His brows furrowed slightly, eyes bright with confusion and concern instead, and he whispered, "Art, you alright?" The deep, green eyes only stared on, showing no signs that Arthur had heard. Alfred leaned forward, closer, and repeated, "Hey, Arthur!" Still, no reply. Alfred sat there, a foot away from the Brit, deciding if he should shake him or leave him be. Oh, or even better—"...Hey"—nothing—"I'm going to kiss you," Alfred whispered as he brought his face inches from Arthur.

Finally, the latter registered the last few words, and as reality hit, his eyes grew wide in shock. His first reflex was to straighten and pull back. A smile graced Alfred's lips and he burst out laughing that contagious laugh.

Arthur didn't return it. His forehead creased as he frowned, never moving his gaze elsewhere. _Bloody hell...what was I doing? _He was too flustered even to yell at the spontaneous American. His breathing was unsteady...and now that his brain processed the situation, that one uncontrollably, unreasonable part of him wished Alfred would just act on those words.

"Arthur," Alfred said softly, dimming the brightness of his smile to a comfortable glow, and he opened his mouth to continue, but instead he hesitated and finished with, "Ah, never mind."

Arthur still sat unmoving, completely flustered. He felt his jaw move slightly, in an attempt to refute, but no words came. All that filled his mind was how beautiful the American was, and the overwhelming desire for Alfred to kiss him, to hug him.

He had always been obstinate. He had pushed Alfred away no matter how hard he tried to come back. Was he being too difficult? Was he being stupid? He only wanted to protect himself. He never wanted to go through that again...he couldn't bear to have Alfred back, then him saying that he's leaving again. Certainly, he'd die this time. He'd never be able to get himself back together.

"Arthur?"

He didn't realize that he had grabbed Alfred's arm—and quite tightly. His first reflex was to let go, but as his grip loosened, he made a rash decision to hold on, clutching the American's arm even tighter.

"I—I," he stumbled for words, eyes darting here and there, refusing to meet the American's eyes.

"Don't worry! This movie's not even scary!" Alfred declared heartily, patting the Brit's hand.

"That—that's not..."Arthur trailed off again.

Sounds of explosions and arguments erupted from the television, completely contrasting Alfred's disposition. His expression was soft, accompanied by an understanding smile, and he said, "I know, Artie." He reached out his free arm and pulled the Brit closer. "Come here." He saw the conflict in the other's eyes, and repeated softly, "Trust me for this once?"

Arthur was at a loss for words. As he stared into those deep, blue orbs, his whole being trembled slightly from the desire to forget everything and just stay wrapped in those arms. He allowed himself to be pulled closer to Alfred.

A hand brushed at the corners of his eyes.

"Don't cry," Alfred whispered. "No, never mind. I don't mean that. Cry if you want. I don't want you to hold them in. Come here," he continued as he wrapped his arms around Arthur and held him tight against his chest.

They stayed that way for minutes, ignoring the movie playing on the screen.

Arthur looked up, only to realize that Alfred was glancing down at him, as well. He felt himself flush an even deeper shade of red, but his eyes never changed their line of vision. Alfred removed a hand from around Arthur and brought it up to the flustered Brit's cheek, caressing the soft skin.

"I'm sorry..."

Before Arthur could ask why Alfred was apologizing, his mind was wiped blank again and his breath hitched, forgetting how to breath as the American's lips were centimeters from his, his warmth sending shivers down the Brit's spine. He could smell the scent that belonged to, and only to, Alfred—a mixture of cologne, fast food, the sea, fresh air, and absolutely everything and anything that was just so _Alfred_.

Arthur felt Alfred's forehead press against his, and he forced himself to take steady breaths, which wasn't working too well. He could feel the warm puffs of air on his skin whenever Alfred exhaled. He closed his eyes as a hue of red blossomed on his cheeks. If he were to catch even a short glimpse of Alfred's piercing blue eyes right now, he wasn't sure if he would stay conscious. Or rather, Arthur was certain he'd bloody well be too red, too hot, and too lost to remember how to breath. Before he died from lack of oxygen, he'd have fainted from the blood rush.

"A...A...A—Al..." Arthur gave up finishing that name and inwardly cursed himself. He could hear the smile spread on those lips.

"Hm?" His arms wound themselves back around Arthur's waist. Although he seemed confident, his heart beat fast enough for it to race a cheetah if it had legs. He desperately willed his hands not to shake.

Arthur sighed, exhaling a long breath he didn't know he had held. Reluctantly, he pulled his head back, expression guarded, and looked into the hopeful eyes of Alfred's, framed by glasses. He planned to say something...but his resolve crumbled once his eyes met the American's. Arthur felt his cheeks burn and he knew just how red he might be. Quickly, in an attempt to hide the extent of his embarrassment, he dropped his head onto Alfred's shoulder, nudging into the nook of the other's neck.

"—like this," he mumbled.

"Huh? What'd you say, Artie?"

"Don't call me Artie," he replied bitterly.

"Ahahaha!" There he goes again. That laugh.

Arthur didn't say anything for a few seconds, trying to find the resolve he much needed to repeat what he had said.

"This..."

"Hmm?" Alfred prompted.

"I...don't know."

Alfred waited.

"I don't know—if...if I..." Why couldn't he just say it? He knew why.

"Shh, it's alright, Art. If you'll let me do this, then I'm happy." Alfred brought a hand up and started petting Arthur's head. "You don't know how happy I am right now." He felt Arthur nod against his skin. "Just let me stay; that's all I ask for. A slow, hesitant nod. The smile on Alfred's lips stretched. "Thank you," he murmured.

Another loud _bam_! from the television brought both their attention back to the movie.

_"_Ah_, _well! It seems like we missed the first part of the movie!"

_"_It's all your fault, you git."

_"_What! You were the one spacing out!"

Arthur made a soft grunt and sought the warmth of Alfred again, snuggling his face back in the nook of the American's neck.

"We'll…take this slow."

Alfred's hand froze mid-way, breaking the soothing rhythm of petting Arthur's hair. "Did—did I hear you correctly?"

Arthur felt his cheeks burn, and he unconsciously bit his lips.

"Arthur?" Alfred's voice was hesitant, hopeful, afraid.

"You bloody git…I said that we'll…take this slow." He pushed himself upright, palms on Alfred's chest, and looked defiantly into the American's eyes, daring him to argue otherwise. "I still can't—I don't know how else to say it…" The firmness of his voice trailed off into a mumble.

"It's okay," Alfred murmured, "because I'll never leave another time."

Shivers ran down Arthur's spine, and staring into those blue eyes, full of resolution, Arthur's vision blurred as tears welled up. Alfred noticed, and smiling down at the Brit, he whispered, "No matter where you are, I'll be there for you." His hand reached up for Arthur's chin, and he directed those lips towards his own; their lips met gently, hesitantly. Although his brain screamed at him to kiss Arthur more, to pull him closer, to release the full amount of desire he had for him, Alfred held back. He was content with this, just this. Having Arthur there with him, right beside him. Having Arthur smile at him.

Slowly, their kiss broke. The movie in the background played on, and the smell of coffee still filled the room. Arthur and Alfred sat on the couch in comfortable silence, foreheads leaning against each other.

"You smell of coffee," Arthur began.

"Mmm…"

"And you're a bloody git."

"Mm…"

"And you don't care about anyone else's feelings but yours."

"Mm…"

"And you're bloody persistent."

Alfred smiled at that. "Yeah…" He expected Arthur to continue, but he didn't. Not after a few seconds, and his voice was much softer.

"And I can't bloody let you go."

At that, Alfred wrapped his arms around the Brit, embracing him tightly. He whispered, "You don't have to, Arthur."

* * *

><p><em>To be continued...<em>


	7. Back Then

_May 14, 2012_

_Super late update, but I'm pretty happy with this chapter. Please leave me a review to let me know what you think!  
><em>

* * *

><p><strong>Back Then <strong>

Alfred contemplated what to do. He hesitated to show up at Arthur's house again, and despite all the confidence he exuded each time he went to the Brit, inwardly, he was shaking from head to toe, having to resort to biting the inside of his cheek from time to time.

Gosh, he was terrified. Ashamed. Everything that was synonymous to "God-damn-stupid-overly-arrogant-bastard-who-can't-do-one-thing-right." The most important thing.

But he wanted it.

And yes, he was also selfish. Though no one mentioned it, he knew they leaned towards the view that he was hurting Arthur more than he had. Why couldn't he leave the poor man alone? Why couldn't he let him pick his life back together and go on?

Alfred didn't know. He just knew he couldn't let Arthur go another time-not that he even had another try, yet.

He reached for the glass of alcohol in front of him, relishing the way it scorched his throat as it slid down. The bar was loud, the dance floor jam-packed with bodies, mostly scantily clad, all rubbing against each other, skin to skin, inappropriate areas even more inappropriately pressed together.

The music was loud, drowning out everything around Alfred. He had wished it would silence his thoughts, too, but guess it wasn't working.

He had forgotten how long he sat there for, how long he'd been there, how long since he had last seen Arthur.

Oh. Arthur.

Alfred brought the glass to his moist lips again, his cheeks having turned red a while ago. Tasting the alcohol, Alfred didn't really care how much he'd drunk. He had good alcohol tolerance...

* * *

><p>Arthur finally fell asleep. He finally seemed to have a good night's sleep, as he didn't wake up fitfully or intermittently the last few hours. It hadn't been like that for a while. So when his phone rang in the middle of the night, waking him from his otherwise undisturbed sleep, Arthur was in an extremely irritable mood.<p>

"Hello?" he answered, rather snappishly in his groggy state. Loud, staticky music blasted from the receiver, effectively causing a minor headache for Arthur. He groaned and rubbed his temple, about to snap the phone closed before a rather annoying voice cackled and practically shouted, "Hey, Arthur, man! It's the awesome me calling!"

"Gilbert, it's bloody one in the morning-"

"Yeah, yeah, old man!" Arthur's brow twitched. "Just ringing you up to let you know that your beau is passed out at the bar here! Don't want anyone touching him-"

"My _beau_?" Arthur repeated, enunciating both words.

"Fuck yeah, your beau! What else should I call him? Your boy? Your man? Hm? Nevermind that, dude! He's quite the hotshot, if I don't mind banging him myself." Arthur opened his mouth to give Gilbert a piece of his mind, but-"Don't worry, geez. Just fucking get here before someone else drags him into their bed! A few guys've already ran their hands down for a touch of his ass-"

"I _don't want _to know," Arthur interrupted, exasperated.

"-and some fucking hot chicks have practically smashed their racks into him."

Arthur really didn't want to know. It shouldn't be any of his business if the insufferable American wanted to get wasted. He cursed his heart for thumping so loudly against his chest, constricting each time Gilbert went on to describe the people trying to get Alfred's attention.

"Bastard didn't even notice," Gilbert finished bitterly. Arthur couldn't help feeling a smile twitch at the side of his mouth.

"I'll be there soon," Arthur said, throwing his covers off.

"You fucking better," was the reply he got, before the line went dead.

* * *

><p>"Alfred," Arthur repeated, smacking the man's face. "Alfred, you hopeless fool, listen to me."<p>

He had dragged the American out of the bar, after surveying the crowded place-despite the late hour-and it didn't take long to find Alfred, bent over the bar on his stool, hand still on his glass. Some girl was at his side, trying to get his attention, probably trying to get him to bring her home, when Arthur stepped up and not-so-discreetly pushed her aside. Gilbert was nowhere to be seen, most likely lost in the hoard of people meaninglessly ruining their minds and bodies.

"Alfred," he had said, his tone stern, "Get up." He gave the man a shove, causing a groan. Arthur repeated his actions, until he finally gave up and decided to loop an arm around the larger man's waist and throw Alfred's arm over his shoulders.

"Bloody hell, you're heavy," Arthur grunted as he slapped money down to pay for the drinks. "You owe me that," he told Alfred, even though he couldn't hear nor remember it.

So now he was outside, waiting for the cab he'd called with a built, drunk man over his shoulders. "Alfred," Arthur repeated another time.

"Arthur..." Alfred mumbled, and the Brit thought he'd finally gotten a reply, only to see Alfred's eyes still mainly closed and hazy.

The cab arrived, and Arthur struggled to push Alfred in, but managed. The whole ride, they were quiet, and Arthur let Alfred lean his head on his shoulder. He didn't realize that he had started smoothing Alfred's hair until the driver turned the corner and slowed to Arthur's flat.

"Thanks," he said, and after paying, he dragged Alfred out and into his place.

He slung him down onto the couch, having no idea what else to do with him. He straightened, pulling his arm out from under Alfred, only to be grabbed by the wrist as he turned to leave.

"Alfred?" he asked.

"—thur," he heard mumbled into the armrest.

"Let go, twit. I need sleep."

Clouded eyes peeked out at him, and Alfred attempted to stand up, only to fumble with his legs and roll onto the floor, his hand slipping off Arthur's wrist, almost smacking onto the coffee table.

Arthur's reaction was delayed, as he rushed down beside Alfred after the fall.

"Alfred, are you okay?" he asked, concern seeping into his voice. "Gosh, I don't even know how you can be so clumsy," he half-heartedly scolded as he tried to help Alfred from his position.

The firm grip on his forearm was unexpected, before he was pushed against his couch with Alfred's face inches from his. They were still on the floor, and he smelt the strong alcohol in Alfred's heavy breath.

"Get off of me," Arthur said, almost in a whisper.

Alfred didn't reply; he only bent his head down towards Arthur's neck and kissed, sending shivers down the Brit's body. Arthur pushed against Alfred's chest.

"Get...off me," he said, with less conviction this time.

Alfred lifted his head and met Arthur's eyes, and the latter was silenced, all thoughts shoved out of his mind. There was something about Alfred's eyes that made his stomach flip unpleasantly, forcing him to stop saying anything he didn't truly protest.

"Arthur," Alfred half-sighed as he leaned down dangerously close to Arthur's lips. "Arthur," he repeated, hot breath on the Brit's mouth. He slipped his arms around the man's waist and pulled him closer, chest flush against each other.

"Arthur..."

It was like a mantra, slowly sucking Arthur in, relenting. The small, sensible part of his mind told him to stop, to get up and leave, as his arms entwined themselves around Alfred's waist, too. They leaned their foreheads together, eyes closed, breathing in the scent between them.

"Arthur..." The name rolled off his tongue so easily, so beautifully.

Alfred tilted his mouth in, brushing lightly against Arthur's, getting used to the feeling. His tongue swiped briefly along those lips, and the sensation tingled on Arthur's mouth. Before he knew it, he'd already parted his lips marginally for Alfred, and they were kissing. Hesitantly at first, tasting each other, a mix of alcohol and mouthwash, before Arthur started kissing back as well, feeling Alfred's tongue with his, sharing the warmth of their mouths. Arthur felt Alfred's hands find their way into his messy hair—having not brushed it as he left the flat—and he was reminded of how much he missed Alfred's kisses. They were tender, delicate, yet so _full_. Their breaths grew heavy, as they continued their kiss, which was becoming slow, languid, savoring. Alfred's fingers threaded themselves into Arthur's hair, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp as Arthur held them close, his arms still around his waist.

Their heavy breathing resonated, was the only sound around them. It was beautiful, comforting, _natural_, as their tongues went deeper, as they took a chance both knew they wouldn't have the courage to if Alfred was sober. Arthur ran his tongue along Alfred's teeth, wanting to remind himself of what he once knew so well, and Alfred nipped at Arthur's lower lip.

Neither of them wanted to stop, to let go. After so long, after everything, their first kiss after all that was a random midnight on Arthur's carpeted floor, against his couch, with a drunken Alfred, slow, and feeling so _right_.

Alfred broke their kiss, leaned his forehead against Arthur's. He panted hot breaths onto Arthur's face, who in turn also breathed heavily, their chests heaving up and down. Arthur swore his cheeks were bright red, and he knew the sudden heat contributed little to the color. Alfred's were a red hue, as well, but that may just be the alcohol's doing.

When he leaned in for another taste of Arthur's lips, he was refused. Arthur turned his head to the side, pushing the American away from him, muttering, "You won't even remember this come morning...or maybe that's for the better." Alfred only tried to close their distance again, when Arthur stood.

"No, we're not doing this. Not when you're drunk out of your mind." His fists were clenched, and he avoided Alfred's pleading eyes.

He was shocked when Alfred was able to lift himself up, with the help of the couch, to face him.

"Does that mean that when I'm sober, I can kiss you again?"

Arthur bit the inside of his mouth, willing himself not to look at Alfred. How the hell was he able to think of _that_ when he couldn't even walk right? He heard Alfred murmur, "I'd like that."

He still didn't reply, was about to turn and leave for his room, when—

"Arthur," Alfred murmured, lightly cupping his chin and twisting his face to look at him, "I've always loved you."

And he wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist again and kissed him, making Arthur melt into his arms and kiss, his stubborn reluctance easily pushed back far into his brain.

Arthur knew he shouldn't have forgotten, in those few seconds, that Alfred was drunk. He had leaned in to Alfred for support, and before he knew it, the American toppled both of them over and onto the floor, prompting a small, indignant squeak from Arthur. He heard Alfred chuckle at that, and was about to slap his arms away, but Alfred's grip was firm and tight, nuzzling his face into the crook of Arthur's neck, as well.

"Don't go..." he sighed onto Arthur's skin. He squeezed Arthur's waist. "Stay..."

Arthur tested his chance to break free of Alfred's grip, and sighed when he confirmed that he wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Arthur..." A deep breath, a long sigh.

Arthur knew Alfred had fallen asleep, and he resigned that he'd be sleeping on the floor that night, as well.

Closing his eyes, he mumbled into Alfred's shoulder, "Bloody git... _I _was the one who said that..."

And Arthur pressed his face into Alfred, breathing in his scent, the one he had missed so much, the one he had tried to deny every time, the one he had such a hard time pushing away.

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_A/N: I really enjoyed writing this chapter, actually. It's been a while since I got to write a kiss scene like this. It felt refreshing. Please leave a review if you can; it'll be greatly appreciated! Thank you for reading! ;)_


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